The hunt
by Asa the wizard
Summary: A witcher of the cat school struggles to make coin killing monsters in a land that thinks him a monster.(rated M for descriptive violence death and language)
1. Chapter 1

**_The hunt_**

"Hmm."

The witcher said as he thought to himself. Crouched on a cave floor in southern kaedwen.

"These footprints imply the monster is a necrophage, but the body says otherwise" The witcher thought out loud. The body in question was sitting just a few feet away, and it was mutalated yes, but not in the style of a necrophage. While the throat was torn open and the blood drained out, the rest of body was (for the most part) undamaged.

"Only one explanation for this" he said to himself. "This must be a lesser vampire, An ekimmara I'd say."

As if The word alone had summoned it, he heard a shriek emanate from somwhere deeper in the cave.

'Time to earn some coin' he thought to himself as he drew his silver sword.

He heard rapid footsteps coming ever closer from the dark. Yet still he could not see the monster.

He quickly pulled a small glass vial out of its leather strap on his chest, and imbibed its contents. (the potion in question is cat. and as such grants a witcher sight in near complete darkness) but what he beheld when the potion began to take effect would have scared most men witless.

Just as soon as the potion began to take effect the footsteps stopped. The witcher caught only a brief glimpse of the monster before it faded into shadow.

'Shit' he thought.

He'd made a grave mistake, the kind of mistake that can end a witcher's career in a moment.


	2. A dance in the dark

**_A dance in the dark and a flash of a blade_**

'It's a katakan' he thought. (Katakan's have the appearance of enormous bipedal bats with half-foot long talons. They are also Faster stronger and smarter than ekimmara, plus they have the ability to turn invisible). This one was smart. it was circling the witcher in the dark, and even with his super human sense's he couldn't track its movement. He couldn't attack it because he couldn't see or hear it, and he couldn't wait for it to attack because the strike could come from any direction at any moment and he wouldn't be ready to counter it. He had to think.

And then it came to him.

He quickly drew the sign of yrden (the magical sign of containment slow's and traps all foe's who pass through it) on the ground at his feet and readied himself.

He didn't have to wait long.

He heard a rock shift behind him and he ducked, low and fast, he then rolled to safety. Just in time as well, a moment later and he wold have fallen prey to the katakan's powerful vertical swing.

The swing brought the katakan straight into the yrden trap, it became almost completely immobilized. But the witcher could tell it was fighting the control of the sign and would soon brake free.

He moved fast. Dealing one horizontal slash to the creature's gut with the tip of his sword, and another slash to its outer thigh with the mid-section of his blade.

The monster shrieked in pain. and, before the witcher could strike another blow. The monster broke free of the sign, and tried to retaliate with a broad swing of the talons. But the witcher was to fast, he dogged away backwards, and, in counter attack, threw a handful of powdered dimeritium silvers (dimeritium blocks magic of all kinds including monsters magical ability's as well as causing horrible pain) at the monster causing it to recoil in pain.

Now that the monster could no longer turn invisible the odds were all most even. But witcher's were never ones for even odds or fair play. While the monster was clawing at itself trying to get rid of the dimeritium, the witcher drew another potion from its strap and drank it in one draw (this potion is thunderbolt it gives witcher's enhanced reflexes).

The witcher could tell the monster was hurting bad. Between the laceration wound's and the dimeritium the monster was in terrible pain. Soon it would be time to strike the killing blow.

As if It could sense his thoughts, the monster lunged into a frenzied series of blows. The witcher managed to evade and parry most of the strikes, but one managed to slip through his guard and It slashed him across the top of his forearm, he grunted in pain. Thanks to his leather vambrace the slash was shallow, but he'd still have to stop the bleeding.

The witcher knew he'd have to end this fight soon. For when it came down to a battle of endurance the katakan would win.

The witcher got into a light stance and looked the monster straight in the eye's.

The monster saw the challenge in the witcher's eye's, and took it. Charging the witcher with a powerful downwards strike.

" _Bad move_ " The witcher said in a grim tone.

The monster seemed to realize its mistake a moment to late. The witcher was anticipating the strike and dodged left, while doing so he brought his sword upward's. The monsters arm and the witcher's blade met.

A moment later the monster was on the floor writhing in pain. It's amputated forearm siting motionless a few feet away.

Slowly the monster began to still as it bled out. The witcher stepped over to the monster. Panting and tired, he razed his blade above the monsters chest and looked it in the eye's.

It was looking straight back.

He bowed his head to the monster once in recognition...

And drove the sword through its heart.


	3. The witcher's plight

**_The witcher's plight_**.

Once the monster was slain, the witcher took a trophy from it (to prove its death). and saw to his wounds.

Once that was done he set of on horse back, to receive payment for the contract's fulfillment.

As he road on he took note of the landscape's beauty. He made a point of this, as, in the witcher profession, in the midst of all the battle death and disdain, One often forgets to appreciate life. and life's beauty.

'Life' the witcher scoffed to himself.

'What do I know about life? After it all, After all those I've killed, after all I've destroyed, when have I ever created?' He thought in disdain.

This was the witcher's plight. Cursed to destroy so that others may create, cursed to kill so that others may live.

And in the end, what thanks did they receive? A hesitantly given to-light pouch of coin's, and disgusted hateful or horrified looks from the contract giver.

They were all the same. The contract givers. Wether a king or a village of peasants. They were all the same.

People don't care who protects them,

So long as they are being protected.

If it serves there interests they'll stab you in the back one moment, when they were praising you as a hero the last. And even if to your dying breath you protect a group of people, when it comes time to ask for the agreed upon reward all praise and gratitude will vanish, replaced by sour look's and hateful words. As soon as you put your own interests, your own needs ahead of others, people stop seeing a hero and start seeing a monster.

And so you stop being a hero.

And you start being a monster.

If that's all people see, no matter what you do, why try to be anything else?

And thus, witcher's never involve themselves in others affairs political or personal. If it's not business, witcher's don't care.

'At least, I'm not suupposed to care' the witcher sighed 'but I've never been very good at staying uninvolved.'


	4. The fortress

**_Sorry for the long wait with this chapter. I could tell you it took so long because I had really important business to attend to, or because it was particularly hard to write. I could tell you that. But The truth of the matter is I was busy being lazy, and playing dark souls_**

 ** _The fortress_**

Just as the witcher road through the gates, he was confronted by an armed and rather angry looking man.

"HALT" shouted the angry man. "Who the bloody hell do you think you are, strutting through the gate like you own the fuck'en place, and armed to the teethe at that. why, I should cut you down where you stand."

"I'd like to see you try" the witcher muttered.

He sighed and started again "I _think,_ I'm a witcher. And one that's taken care of your monster problem at that!"

"Oh" said the angry man in a defeated tone. "Well in that case I'll let you through" he said. "But just remember, I've got my eye on you" he said as if scolding a child.

The witcher dismounted from his horse. And brought it inside the " _fortress"._ though it was more of a large compound that had been fortified.

As the witcher walked into the fortress he took note of his surroundings. The fortress was composed of four buildings arranged to form a citadel. To the left of the gate was what the witcher assumed to be the servants quarters, to the right was the stables, directly ahead was the main house, and forming one of the walls as well as the gate, was the guard house directly behind him.

In the middle of the citadel there was a court yard, which appeared to function as a training yard.

The witcher was heading for the stables to tie-up his horse, when he was confronted by an eager-looking stable hand. "I'll rope i'em up for ya" said the stable-hand. The witcher hesitantly handed the stable-hand the horse's reign's. But before the stable-hand could take the horse to the stables the witcher stopped him.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you, that if I find you've in any way harmed my horse, or taken any item regardless of value from the saddle-bags, you'll find this protruding from your gut" the witcher said in a nonchalant tone as he indicated the sword at his hip.

The witcher then removed a large bag from a strap on the horses side before The stable-hand quickly nodded and hurried of with the horse.

The witcher proceeded to the main building. "Time to finish this" he thought.

 ** _To be continued!_**

 ** _Well turns out this one not only took a long time, but was also short and uneventful. Sorry about that. the next chapter should arrive in a more timely fashion, and that one will be much more exciting!_**


	5. The cruelty that man hath sown

_Hey, look at that. Turns out I'm still alive._

 _—_ _Asa the wizard_

 ** _The cruelty that man hath sown._**

As the witcher stepped inside the main house he immediately noticed two things; firstly, that the house was extremely well furnished, with rather expensive fur chairs a hard-wood table and several stuffed animal heads, all situated around a roaring fire.

The second thing he noticed was the smell. Hard alcohol. And not the good kind.

He knew immediately he'd entered into the siting-room. And it appeared the dining room was on the other side of the wall furthest the door. He knew this because of a strange feature of the houses fireplace, you could see through to the other side. And through the high flames, he could just make out a dining table.

Suddenly someone called out "that you Eirnell? Be a friend and Grab some hooch on your way in, the good stuff."

The witcher, not wanting to shout his presence to the world. Did not respond. He simply walked over to the dining room door frame, and leaned into it, crossing his arms.

"And who the blazes are you?" asked a short, pale, rather large man, with a manicured broom-like mustache. He was clearly rather distressed.

"My name is Cedric Blackwall, I'm a witcher of the cat scho—"

"yes, yes, let's skip the formalities, shall we" the man interrupted. Clearly he was relieved to see the witcher meant no harm, the witcher took note of this.

"Seeing _as you've interrupted my dinner_ —he emphasized acidly—, I would like to get this business out of the way as soon as possible" he finished with a note of impatience.

'Seems to me you could stand to have dinner interrupted' thought the witcher, as he took note of the man's rather unhealthily wide physique. But he kept such thoughts to himself.

"Very well, then what am I to call you?" he said with practiced patience. Not letting his minor annoyance show in his tone.

"You may call me count Onceld" he said. With no small amount of pomp.

"So you're the count? I must say I've heard quite a bit about you" the witcher said, attempting to play to the man's pride.

"Oh I see, No doubt most of it is peasant drivel" said the count with a scoff, his pride showing nearly as much as his swollen belly.

"Perhaps" said the witcher in admittance. he had to be careful, pride could easily turn to anger.

"But that isn't what I came to talk about."

"Indeed" said the count. What is it then, witcher, that you wished to discuss?"

"I've slain the monster, and am here about the notice" said the witcher in a monotone, not once breaking eye-contact.

"Oh very good, very good" said the count in a dismissive tone,his attention returningto his rather large dinner. But the witcher felt that something was _off,_ his demeanor was almost nervous.

"Well, before we talk to much over that unsavory business. Won't you join me for dinner?" Asked the count, as he motioned to the seat opposite him In a manner Nearly the opposite of his previous down-to-business stance. ' _He's avoiding the subject. Why?_ ' thought the witcher. As he sat down.

"No. many thanks but I can't stay long. However I will sit and talk" He said, as he dropped the large sack he was carrying to the ground.

"The pleasure is mine. Interesting company is rare in these parts" said the count.

"Well I'm afraid I must disappoint. For interesting company I am not" said the witcher, because, though some might find them interesting, most witcher storys would make a man such as this sick to his stomach

"Oh I'm sure that's not true. Come now surely you've had some interesting experiences on the path!" Said the count. It was obvious the man was stalling, trying to delay the witcher. But why?

"Hmm, so be it" the witcher said. If this man wanted a story than by melitele he'd get one!

"Once upon a time, there was a witcher of no particular renown" the witcher began, and though the count looked incredulous he didn't interrupt. "This witcher was minding his own business, riding along a main road, when suddenly he was ambushed by a group of bandits. The bandits had made a grave mistake, for, the witcher was in a hurry and this inconvenienced him. The witcher cut them down to a man, all except one. That one he drug of to use as bait for a monster that used to prowl this very area. The end" the witcher finished, in a completely nonchalant tone. He hoped the count would get the message.

"That's all? Surely you've had more exciting encounters than that" said the count, with a tone of disappointment. The witcher's hopes had been in vain.

"You'll forgive me if I'm blunt, not much etiquette practice you see, but every minute I spend here is a minute not spent making coin to survive the long hard winter that's coming. So if you don't mind please hand over my reward and I'll be off" said the witcher, letting his annoyance show in full.

The count appeared rather flustered by the witcher's sudden outburst. When his reply come it was both angry and disorganized. "Well... How can you even prove the monster is dead?"

The witcher was done wasting time. He simply lifted up the sack he'd been carrying, and forcefully swung it up onto the table, it landed with a heavy thud right in front of the count. Who then slowly and fearfully began to undo the drawstrings, but what he saw when he opened it caused him to gasp and recoil.

From the bag slumped the head of the katakan. An eternal scowl plastered across its face. when the count recoiled, the head rolled out of the bag and fell to the floor, were it landed with a sickening thud and began bleeding into the carpet.

The count made no move to pick it up.

"I... Witcher,—the count then shot up from his seat— I have no intention to pay you. Leave my house now or I'll call the guards!" He said. His voice rising in anger.

The witcher ignored his threats and remained seated. But the expression on his face was enough to turn the counts anger to fear. "And here I was thinking you might be smarter than my usual employer" the witcher said. Acid dripping from his words.

"And I thought you'd be smart enough to heed my warning" said the count. Seeming to think that, as the witcher was still seated, he was in no danger, how wrong he was. Just as he was about to call the guards the witcher interrupted "seems we were both mistaken."

The witcher flipped the dinning table to the side, grabbing a heavy glass while doing so. Just as the count was about to cry out the witcher threw the glass at the count, it hit him center face breaking with a satisfying smash, the count fell to the floor too stunned by the impact to speak, much less move, blood streaming from his no-doubt broken nose.

At the same time a man called out from the hallway "OY what's the ruckus" just as he started to open the door leading to the dining room.

The witcher side kicked the door closed, causing it to collide with the man's face, and he to subsequently fall backwards into the hall, from the sound of it.

The witcher quickly toppled a display cabinet in front of the door, effectively denying entry. He then got to work on the second entrance to the dinning room, jamming the table in front of it. This all took place in less than five seconds.

The count was starting to rouse, so the witcher decided to deal with that problem before it took place. The witcher efficiently drove his elbow into the count's temple, this time rendering him completely unconscious.

With both entrances blocked and any threat the count may have posed effectively nullified, the witcher started pocketing anything of significant value, beginning with the count's coin-purse, jewelry, and decorative dagger, and going so far as to take a gilded silverware set.

By this time, guards were already attempting to gain entry to the dinning room, shouting threats and attempting to bargain in equal measure. All in vain. For the witcher was soon to make his escape.

But the how is the most important question when it comes to escape, and this very question is that which plagues the witcher.

 _The witcher has two options:_

 _Exit through the window._

 _Or_

 _Unblock the door and fight his way out._

 _You decide. Tell me in the reviews which action he should take._

 _—_ _Asa the wizard_


	6. The art of speech

_"We now return to our regularly schedu-... One and a half month late update!_

 _Oops! Little late with this one. I finally got to work on part one of the multiverse saga, and this story kind of got moved to the back burner. Fear not though, for I've no intention of giving up on this thing before I've seen it to completion!"_

 _— Asa the wizard_

 _ **Chapter six: the art of speech**_

The witcher knew he was in deep. Perhaps he had been too hasty in his decision, perhaps it was not the decision itself but rather the lack of planning behind it.

Whatever the reason behind his position, he was in the position none the less, and so merely had to make the best of it.

He chose the window for his escape. being on the first floor, it seemed both the safest, and least likely to result in the unnecessary death of his attackers.

He grabbed a solid hard-wood chair and threw it at the window. As expected, the chair broke the window, yet left jagged shards of glass protruding from the frame.

This would be no problem.

The witcher took a running start towards the window, and jumped through it, tucking his limbs in an attempt to prevent cuts.

Yet in the end it seemed, cuts were inevitable. He took a deep gash to his left shoulder, and a smaller cut to his right thigh. Yet to a witcher, injuries like these were entirely superficial. Ignoring pain was something witchers were trained extensively in, it was a joke to think that a few glass cuts would be anything more than mildly annoying to clean.

Once the window had been cleared, the witcher landed on a small private porch behind the manner. It consisted of wooden planks suspended over a steep, near vertical, hill. The very latest novigrad style. The only conventional exit was back into the house.

Witcher or no, jumping off the porch was not an option. It was at least fifty feet down a near vertical incline. The very best outcome would be him walking away with several broken bones, and at worst he wouldn't be walking away.

He heard a commotion behind him, from the room he'd just exited.

From the sound of it, the guards had gotten through his minimal barricade.

The only thing keeping them from him now was a sharp-glass-heavy window frame. That didn't sit well with him in the slightest.

His options boiled down to either attempting to sneak by the guards no doubt converging on him now, or fighting them outright. At this point, a fight was beginning to seem inevitable.

He chose to fight them directly. Yet attempt to minimize casualties. A good decision as well, for no sooner had he made up his mind and drawn his steel sword than half a dozen guards came bursting out of his only exit.

This wasn't good. Witcher or no, the odds were stacked against him. The porch was to small to allow good maneuverability, yet at the same time still large enough that the guards could make good use of their superior numbers and flank him.

Five of the six guards were armed with standard one-handed swords, that, from what he could tell were made of mild steel. Yet the sixth, who seemed to be spearheading this attack, had a finely serrated sword of dimeritium. This one was also wearing heavy armor, going so far as a full visor. Besides swords two of the standard guards had round shields.

The one at the forefront stepped forward even further and spoke; "witcher, you have done nothing so wrong as to be deserving of death. Simply return what you have stolen, and I will allow you to walk free" he said. And as shocking as he found it, the witcher actually believed him. Which was only helped by the fact that the witcher could hear his heart-beat and breathing, which were both calm, like someone who hoped to resolve a situation with words rather than violence. They made a stark contrast to the jackrabbit-speed mess that was the other guards breathing.

One of the other guards stepped forward, he recognized this guard as the one who had stopped him at the gate. "tha's not your call to make pretty boy. —he said with all the charm of a dying bore— this'un here's got a lot more coming to him than a boot to the ass" he said with a tone somewhere between authority and sheer malice, a sadistic smile spreading across his face.

The knight, for the witcher had just realized exactly who this armored stranger was, shifted as if to respond to the gate-guard. But the witcher was faster. "Back off, dirt-fucker, Or I'll leave you face-down in your own entrails" said the witcher in a cold monotone, all the while giving of a practically tangible air of danger. For the time being, the newly-dubbed 'dirt-fucker' seemed to do as the witcher said.

"And you" the witcher said turning back to the knight; "Finally dredged my memory deep enough to remember you; Sir Orvrind. I thought I burned you to death Back in Temeria."

"Half to death, actually" said Orvrind, lifting his visor to show a terrible burn scar covering almost his entire left face.

"Not bad. But we'll compare scars later. For now, I just can't bring myself to leave without these" he said, indicating the bag of stolen valuables. "The count needed a monster dead, and a dead monsters just what he got. But I didn't see a single chipped crown out of the three-hundred that bastard owes me. All I want is to walk away from this with enough to hold up somewhere for the winter" said the witcher calmly, holding up his hands in what was meant to be a show of peaceful intent, but was somewhat undermined by the sword still in his right hand.

"Hmm" mused Orvrind aloud. He then sighed and said; "very well then. Take this and return the valuables to the guards." Orvrind then threw a coin-pouch that the witcher caught near-effortlessly in his left hand.

"Crown's?" Asked the witcher. "Florin's." replied Orvrind.

If the witcher wasn't mistaken, there was the equivalent of about two-hundred-and-fifty crown's in this pouch. Far more than he would have gotten from selling the valuables.

"Hmm..." the witcher thought aloud, before undoing the bag of valuables from his side, and throwing it to sir Orvrind.

"Something or another might be dented, but I swear everything I took is in that bag." the witcher assured, as he sheathed his steel sword at his hip.

The witcher then began walking towards the group of armed men, intent on getting answers. The lead guard was glancing him daggers. "So, what is it you want of me, Orvrind?" The witcher questioned.

"What? I never asked for assistance." Responded Orvrind.

"Nothing is free, least of all coin." The witcher deadpanned.

Orvrind sighed "you witchers were always cynical. At the very least, let us find more comfortable surroundings before conversing much further."

"Agreed." Replied the witcher.

And with that the two began to walk back to their horses.

But when he was about halfway across the courtyard, the witcher heard a strange sound. It was something familiar but he couldn't quite place it, It was a straining, hi-tension sound. It was extremely faint, if not for his super human senses, he wound never have heard it.

The witcher recognized the sound.

The witcher twisted, dodging backwards in a pirouette. A split second later a crossbow bolt shot through the air a couple inches from his chest. Too close.

The witcher carried his momentum and used it to draw a throwing knife. In the span of a half second, the witcher identified the arbalest on the second floor of the stables, and threw the knife. It sped through the air, hardly arcing at all before landing squarely in the arbalest's neck. He fell from his perch, landing facedown and driving the knife oven deeper. He was surely a dead man, and surely not the last.

"Heads are going to roll." The witcher spoke in a battle-hardened tone, laced with the promise of death.


End file.
